


Resonance

by dawnstone



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Flirting, In the Fade, Rescue, The Black Emporium Exchange, Treat
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-06
Updated: 2018-10-06
Packaged: 2019-07-27 04:12:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16211156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dawnstone/pseuds/dawnstone
Summary: Marian Hawke didn't expect anyone to come back for her when she stayed behind in the Fade to battle Nightmare, much less a mage she barely knew.





	Resonance

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sansbanshees](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sansbanshees/gifts).



> A treat for the Black Emporium, and definitely a WIP.

Marian woke to the familiar feeling of a big dog snuffling around her face. 

“Mmmnnn… Morning, handsome.”

At her sleepy mutter, the snout drew back quickly. 

“Ahem. Pardon me. I wanted to see if you were breathing.” The voice was strangely familiar, but she couldn’t place it. 

“Wait what?” Marian opened her eyes and sat up sharply—which was a mistake, because everything hurt. And everything was green, and black, and covered in Fade goo. 

This was not the floor of the Hanged Man, which was what she thought she’d been sleeping on. 

In front of her, instead of her muscular, square-jawed mabari, was what was most decidedly an extremely large wolf; his grey fur looked bedraggled and he was rather too skinny, or, maybe, just old. 

“What, indeed, Champion. I’m not certain Nightmare is dead, but it has retreated for the meantime. I may be able to help you, but we must leave this area of the Fade with haste.”

A talking wolf. 

Well, not really talking—she sort of heard his voice in her head, and knew he was a “he”... 

“I must have fallen on my head.”

“Possibly, but you seem to have regained full consciousness. I healed you as best I could.”

“Forgive me for being skeptical about my sanity while faced with a talking magical wolf.”

“There are far more unusual sights to be found in a place such as this, I promise you. Let us focus on securing you an exit.”

“Fair point. I guess getting out of here is going to be a lot harder than it was getting in, then?” Looking around, the raw Fade seemed to go on endlessly. It occurred to her that her knives were lying on the ground nearby and she ought to reclaim them. 

She managed to stand, took out one of the foul-tasting potions the Inquisitor had given her, and drank the whole thing in one gulp. Only three of those left, half a canteen of watered wine, and less to eat. Cleaning her knives of demon ichor, she sheathed them. 

“Without the mark? Immeasurably.”

“So what do we do?” 

“I have some ideas.” The wolf snuffled around on the ground, as if it were looking for something. He avoided her eyes. 

Marian crouched down in front of him. “You don’t actually, know, do you?” 

“Not for certain, but that has more to do with the nature of the Fade than any particular deficit of knowledge. If I can help you, I will.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “What are you? A demon?”

“What do I appear to be?”

“A smart aleck wolf spirity-thing. No offense, I’m used to things in the Fade being rather more bitey and a lot less fluffy.” She grinned, but the wolf only looked vaguely annoyed. “Anyway, how did you know where to find me?”

“I looked. Irregardless, we must go.” 

Ah, so he was going to be dodgy. Lovely.

As far as leaving went, he was right, though. She could feel a heaviness to the air that was growing, like cold air blowing in ahead of a storm, which made her think of demons.

“Where?”

“Is there a place where you tend to find yourself in dreams?” 

Only one place that mattered. “At the Hanged Man in Kirkwall. Varric and I used to spend all of our free time there. It was a bit like home, since I didn’t really have one yet.”

The wolf circled around behind her, and then stood at her side. “Walk with me, and describe it.” 

As they wandered black glittering paths, Marian told him of the tavern, how it was decrepit and smelly and full of foul-mouthed drunks. She described her friends, if less colorfully than Varric did, and the games they played, alluded to the reasons why they broke apart.

They walked for some time while she told her story, until, finally, they wandered into a dead end. The wolf looked around, seeming uncertain for a moment, and then he began digging, his paws rending what looked like solid rock with little effort. 

“Is that going to help?”

“Patience, Champion.” 

Soon, a weathered wooden hatch-door with black hinges, appeared, inset to the ground. Strangely, he’d discovered a hidden cellar of some sort. A great iron ring was attached to the center of the door.

Marian waited for him to explain, but he simply stared up at her expectantly. 

Then it hit her. “Oh right, no hands. I’ll get it.” 

She grabbed the ring and pulled, wondering what could possibly be on the other side. The door was heavy for its size, but with a good heave she managed to drag it back. A strange, misty, pinkish light poured out of the opening. 

“First try, excellent! Follow me.” The wolf dove into the opening, without hesitation. Marian followed, but more tentatively. She recalled her initial entry into the Fade, how they’d fallen and then floated, and then found their feet. If dream logic worked entirely on expectations, in theory, she should be fine. 

They did indeed land on solid ground, in what looked like a cellar. Filled with huge casks and barrels of all kinds, there was enough here to supply Lowtown for at least a week. Spirits for spirits, for there were a few hovering in the dank room. Also, she could see, but wasn’t certain why, as no torches were lit. The hatch they’d come through from above, had disappeared.

As had the wolf.

Standing next to her, now, was most definitely a man. A bald, pale-skinned elf, with the sort of face that was handsome at very specific angles, but otherwise would blend into a crowd effortlessly. He wore a wolfskin wrapped over one shoulder of his hooded tunic.

“I know you,” she said. “You’re that mage who was with Trevelyan. Solas, was it?”

“Yes—and I still am traveling with the Inquisitor, though he has wandered off with his paramour while we rest. We’re returning to Skyhold.”

“Why a wolf?” While she was curious who Trevelyan was knocking boots with, this question seemed a bit more pressing. 

“Excuse me?” He sounded like he'd no idea what she was talking about.

“You looked like a wolf before. That was you, wasn’t it?”

“It was. Some forms make it easier to perform certain tasks—such as tracking a lost human in the Fade, or evading demons. Sometimes, I simply prefer it.” He shrugged as if it were completely normal, and of little concern.

Marian took her thoughts on the concept to their logical conclusion. “So... I could just make myself look like a dragon here?”

“It is possible. The longer your body is exposed to the raw energies of the Fade, the more likely any latent gift in magic you have will awaken. Though you might not be able to change back. Such an attempt would be different if you were here only in spirit. I would suggest maintaining your current form, Champion.” He sounded amused, and she caught the hint of a smile. 

Solas didn’t look transparent, as if only his spirit was completely with her. He looked as solid as she did. Probably wouldn’t like it if she poked him, though.

“Ah, well that’s no fun. You can call me Marian, Solas. I don’t bite. Much.” 

“If you like.” 

“I do like.” She smirked at him, and he looked taken aback. Maybe flirting wasn’t the best idea at a time like this, but if it helped keep her sane... 

He composed his expression, and shook his head, though she couldn’t tell if it was at her or at himself. “We should go. Time does operate somewhat differently here, but eventually I will have to attend to the physical world.” 

Marian nodded. “How long do we have?”

“It’s difficult to say. If I disappear, try to keep moving, and your mind clear of emotions. I will look for you again when I can.”

They made their way up the stairs leading up the far wall, and into the backroom of what looked like ten taverns mashed together. Cabinets and counters sat at strange angles, the wood different colors, bleeding into each other; two fireplaces sat on opposite walls, while the counters were scattered with bottles and glasses, some of which seemed to fade in and out of vision.

“It is it just me, or is this room wobbly?” She had the impression of people, or memories of people, walking past, around, and through her as she stood still. Many people, some of them more visible than others. Solas did not seem perturbed, but then he was a mage and one who she’d heard had an unusual affection for the Fade. 

He chuckled. “There are thousands of taverns in the waking world. It may appear we’ve wandered into an amalgam of several such establishments. Many doors can lead to it, many impressions and memories can layer upon one another. Will it into a place you know, and it will stabilize.” 

Marian already knew that they both might be seeing something different, from what she’d experienced while fighting fearlings with the Inquisitor. She could only guess at what Solas saw, when she’d battled spiders, and what he saw now.

“So, if I don’t think about it enough, it just stays a sort of universal watering hole.”

“In a manner of speaking, though there will never be tangible sustenance here. Such a place is a good choice if one is attempting to find weak places in the Veil.”

Walking around, touching the walls and surfaces to reassure herself of their solidness, she looked back at him. “Is that what we’re doing?” 

Everyone knew it was impossible to pass through the Veil, physically. Only the Inquisitor’s Mark had allowed them to pass safely.

“Yes, if you wish to attempt an escape. A rift would be better, but we must start somewhere.” He moved towards the doorway which led into the rest of the tavern. She followed, disappointed when the room was little different from the back. There were more smudged, shadowy figures and spirits quietly drifting through, ignoring them.

“Why are you helping me?” Something wasn’t adding up.

They’d scarcely spoken a single word to each other, during her entire stay at Skyhold. She’d spent some time in the library above what seemed to be his office in the rotunda. All he did day-to-day, was paint and read, and when he didn’t glare in vague disapproval at passers-by, he looked sad. And he slept in his chair a lot, like an old man, though looking at him, he couldn’t be more than forty.

“I have my reasons.” He’d arched an eyebrow at her, which was too much.

She blinked at him, then smiled widely. “Ooh, trying to be mysterious are we? I’ll take it Trevelyan doesn’t know you're doing things behind his back.”

Varric said Maxwell was alright, if you didn’t mind that he didn’t like to read, or listen, or do much of anything that wasn’t to impress the other nobles. It didn’t surprise her that he hadn’t gone out of his way to befriend an elven apostate. 

“The Inquisitor is far more concerned with filling his pockets and reveling in his own ignorance. I can’t see why he would care.”

Marian’s eyes widened at how bitter he sounded. “Ouch. So you’re saving me out of spite?”

Solas snorted, as he examined the tavern, magic flowing from his hand while he searched for something she couldn’t even guess at. “Not entirely. I’m also testing a theory, which hopefully will work. I haven’t saved you.” 

At his last comment, she felt a mild stab to her heart. “You certainly don’t mince words. Somehow, I thought you liked me. I was already imagining how lovely it would be to have you to the manor for tea.” She could have even found some of those biscuits everyone in Skyhold loved.

Lowering his hand, the magic dissipating, he faced her again, his expression softening. “Tell me, Marian—you fought for peace in Kirkwall, did you not?”

“To little success. The city is rebuilding, but it will never be the same. All I could say in the end was that I tried.” A tragedy for the ages, as Varric said. She smiled sadly, and the tavern around her seemed to settle into a familiar shape, a place she knew down to the grooves in the tables and the stains on the floorboards.

He nodded. “We have that much in common. I am not certain how similar you are to the person Varric wrote of in his “Tale of the Champion”, but if even half of it is true, I admire your perseverance greatly. It should serve you well here. Come, the resonance from the buildup of spiritual energy isn't as erratic in this area as I'd hoped. We should move on.” 

"Very well. Now I'm curious, did anyone write a book about you?" She was immediately intrigued by the flash of anger she caught behind his eyes, at the question.

"In a way, but I can't recommend it."

Exiting what looked like the weathered door of the Hanged Man, Marian laughed at Solas' acerbic tone. "Never piss off your biographer."


End file.
